One night, in the lands of Mvir Ghlas, there was to be nothing special as autumn and winter peaked their heads over the hedges that surrounded a cul-de-sac of halflings. The rolling hills dipped and opened up this small space to a tiny forest where this clan resided. Almost two dozen families formed the clan of Meldy. And nearly 70 stomachs did their cooks need to satisfy every night. A clan of juice and wine makers, druids and rangers, them all but one. A stout halfling with a bit of dwarf in her blood somewhere.

The young lass sat with her parents, exchanging hugs and small sips of wine late in the night. She had been blessed with good news, she was going on a trip to hone her fighting skills, with the full blessings of her family. In two weeks, as autumn took its first real steps, she would be traveling down to the southern clans, to take part in their fall tournaments. So far north, they had few, if any need for those skill. But this stout girl loved the arts of combat since she was large enough to swing a stick.

Her heritage was whispered about behind her parents back. She was much to thick and stout for a halfling, and rumors of a dwarven merchant from nine months before her birth were spoken over the cook fires and in smoke filled homes. And none spoke of this to the family or their children. But children were clever, they were insightful, and they could be as cruel as an adult. The lass of dubious fathering was teased, bullied, and picked on by her cousins. Until she grew tired of it. She grew stronger than even the eldest cousins and could throw and bash them to the dirt with the strength of a pony. She did not relish the fighting against her bullies, she just couldn’t take it anymore. And once she could stand her ground, none would continue it.

The lass would grow up, her little siblings targeted next as the smallest. But she stood between them and the teasing of their cousins. She was the first to offer her strength in chores, first to offer aid when a family member was injured, first to offer a hand in teaching her cousins to fight. She grew slowly into her role in the clan, finding her place as her coming of age inched closer every year. None would question her strength and love for her clan, and showed it to her in return. They whole clan pitched in to fund her travels, Aunt Betty was going to make the road tack, Uncle George was to polish the old set of half plate rusting in the store house, and Cousin Hide was trying to make a beautiful tabored of the Meldy Clan, so she would be properly representing the family. It made the lass truly feel like an adult, a true member of the clan, even if that wouldn’t be for another year.

This night, the parents were celebrating, giving her a taste of wine, and showing their pride in their eldest daughter. They had only finished their first cup when the scream echoed around the clan. They rushed out their home and saw Aunt Brenda’s home was aflame and men swarmed from it and to the next house. The men were clad in scattered pieces of armor, carrying crude and poorly cared blades and clubs. Their eyes were full of mirth as Aunt Brenda screamed and writhed next to her three daughters. The boots of her husband were hanging limply from a window being licked with flames.

There were no words came from the lass and her parents. Nor the rest of the clan who were mirroring them. They dashed into their home, mother grabbing the younger siblings and the emergency supplies. The lass and her father grabbed weapons. She grabbed the family blade and a buckler, while father grabbed the bow and quiver.

They ran out to their other clansmen doing the same. Some men holding babies, like Uncle Gride, some older siblings leading younger, but most adults were taking up arms and glaring with rage at the bandits who had already captured one small branch of their clan. The Meldy Clan were gatherers and hunters, rangers and druids at their very best, with little true battle training. In fact, the lass was by far the most proficient close quarters fighter the clan had recorded in their clan’s histories.

There was no spoken plan or discussion. The bandits were encircling Cousin Brew’s home, beating on his door with a ram as he held against it with his wife. The children scrambling up and out the chimney as men broke through the windows with stones. The lass and her family did not hesitate. She raised her buckler and dashed forward, ramming through the legs of the men slamming through the door. Her rush continued as a hail of arrows rained upon the group once she was clear. Her headlong rush and recklessness allowed her to reach and pull free her burning Uncle Grant and then face the main group that held his wife and family.

One lone lass, only halfway through her fourteenth year, stood before a burning home and seared halfling, against a dozen fully grown bandits ranging from two to three times her height. There was something burning inside the child as she looked upon the men who were trying to ruin her clan and family. Rage, furry, and a spark of desire. A desire to fight, to live and become the warrior she dreamed and hoped to become.

She rushed forward, slamming her shield in men, swinging her sword with power and speed none of them could have expected. Three fell before her childish dreams crashed into reality. The leader, a half orc of size and girth, did not shudder as her shield met his shins. She wasn’t deterred. She was Eozira Meldy, and she would not stand alone this night.

****************************

The lass opened her eyes to the harsh glare of sun, pain, bruising, cuts and burns woke her from the blackness of unconsciousness. Her eyes swirled and were knocked around in a mad swirl as an opened hand struck her across the face.

Memories, flashes of fire as she had managed to fight and throw the massive orc into the burning home and charging in after him. Screams of anger and horror. The acrid smell of burning hide and leathers, the pleasant scent of charred and ash furniture, the stickily sweet scent of unfermented Mvir Wine. Roars of rage, swirls of roaring flames, soaring pain and fear, unwavering determination and wrath. Flashes of the scene of a battle inside her aunt’s burning home, before it went black.

The shadow of a charred beast stared down at the lass. Its form battered and beaten, but in the end, victorious. It sneered with a hate for the halfling before him and waited for her senses return. When she was well enough to understand him once again, he kneeled over her, his leg splitting her thighs as he laughed, spittle falling across her aching body. His face drew closer until she could only see him and his nightmarish visage.

“You... You are going... To suffer, you worthless bitch. Do you know how many men that shit show cost me?!” He was growling as two men stood behind him, rage and hate filling their eyes. “You are the only one of your clan now. Yes, you haggish halfling. We killed you all. We ripped them, burned them, and destroyed them all. Because they wouldn’t stop fighting.”

The lass looked up, incomprehension written on her face. Over forty of her cousins were not of age yet. Twenty of her kin were aged or infirmed. And the seventy able adults... All were gone. Slain and dead. She was barely able to comprehend the loss. Her soul felt hollow. She wanted to refute it. To scream the orc was lying. But her thoughts were ripped back to the physical as her burned and scabbed legs were raked with agony. Her cotton trousers were ripped down, partly covered by her forming burn scabs. Her howl was hollow and raspy as tears formed in her eyes. Across her lower half were burns, stabs, bruising and scabs. It was a patchwork of agony upset by the sudden removal of fabric.

“We will be selling you bitch. You will repay what we lost. While my other men are taking your clan’s wealth to our base, we will be taking you to the Bandit Barron. Until then, you will start paying your debt to us.”

The start to months filled with torture and agony would be marked by her screams of mercy.

****************************

“I-I am sorry Eozira, if you don’t die... We both will.”

An older half elf looked down with pity on the bloody, similarly starving halfling. The two of them had been locked in a cage pulled on a long wagon of other cages. Now, their cage sat with four others in the center of a large and lavish feast. Slavers, bandits, scoundrels and deplorables were watching and cheering as the starving occupants of the cages looked between each other. They had been told, whoever is the last one alive in the cage would be allowed the scraps of the feast of the Bandit Barron Glend Bowman.

Three of the five cages already had winners. And they were tossed half eaten meat legs, spilled vegetables and were doused in soiled wine. But after nearly two weeks of only being given water and rotten fruit, it was a heavenly bounty. The first fight started within seconds of the declaration. A man and woman were clawing at each other with hate and fury. The others watched in horror as the people cheered and hollered. Once the winner was clear, the woman sitting on the body of the man, bloody soaking her soiled rags, and it was clear no other fights were going on, was she showered with her ‘winnings.’

The occupants watched with envy and greed at the feeding. Once the woman was doused in wine, did the second brawl begin. In the third cage, was a man and a dire wolf. The man looked on with hunger at the woman shoving food in her face. When one of the viewers shouted and exclaimed that the wolf didn’t know what was happening. And a ‘kind’ spectator quickly used a spell to inform the beast, ‘in the spirit of fairness.’ The wolf was pouncing on the man before he could turn to look at the beast. His throat was ripped open, body being devoured with glee and hunger.

The fourth cage was occupied by a couple. Two beautiful young nobles clung to each other in fear. When the wolf was done devouring his occupant, he was given a pile of shredded meat to further fill his stomach. The couple stood and glared at all the people watching and cheering.

“You barbaric filth! How dare you treat people like sport and entertainment in such a way!” The man shouted with rage and fear as he clutched his wife against his chest.

“Yes! You kidnap people, animals, and even children! And then force us to fight for food?! We would rather starve than debase ourselves!”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

The crowd quieted, before starting to jeer, and boo. Throwing spoiled foods at them. When the speaker of the event came forward, he confirmed that the two would not fight. They nodded firmly and awaited their execution. What they received was far, far worse. The man touched a rune on the cage, and it started to glow a disgusting, deathly green from below.

The two were fearful, and confused before their screaming started. The half elf and halfling watched as the two started to shrink. No, their feet, they were beginning to rot and decompose on their body. Their feet grew grey and sickly, and they lost the ability to stand, falling forward on their hands and knees, the same happened there. Necrotic energy was eroding and burrowing into their living flesh like green magots.

The crowd was silent, as well as the remaining cage. The only noises were the screams of agony and pleading for mercy as the couple were slowly rotting away. Death was slow, agonizing, and horrific. Neither or them died until their organs were being burrowed into and infested. Both bodies were slowly dissolved and decomposed into a puddle of once flesh across the floor of the cage. Not a single being could speak, move, or even look away from the horror, was how captivating and revolting the experience was.

Dozens vomited up their feast, but as the sound of ruined meals splattered across the floor, and the acidic stench started to overwhelm the feast’s allure, did they start to cheer and scream for the display. Now, it was only the half elf and halfling. A child and an adult.

**********

“Cheer for the Feasting Slave Tournament Champion! The young halfling girl! She has ripped and killed ten of her other slaves to claim her spot at the top! Weeks of starvation and ten rounds later, she stands alone at the top of her crop! With her bare hands she ended the reign of the Hungering Wolf King! Cheer for her! And know her auction will be in two months' time, in the city of Barg’s Refugee!”

****************************

The lass sat in the corner of her new cage, staring at the younger gnome boy across from her. Her eyes were hollow as she considered if she would eventually have to kill this child. He looked at her with eyes of curiosity, a shred of innocence in his heart remained. He had not been a slave for more than a month at the longest.

The lad sat and started to talk. Their cage was in a secluded corner of the barge, none would hear them as he spoke and asked questions. He spoke with a kindness, an empathy that the lass had forgotten existed. He asked her questions that she refused to answer. Remaining quiet at his words, but never telling him to stop. So, he didn’t. They boy spoke, recited, debated, and dictated books, topics, magic, myths, maps, of everything the boy ever had the luxury of laying his eyes upon.

When the lad eventually came to his tale of arriving on the slave ship, did he finally hesitate in his descriptions. He didn’t want to relive the moments, but at the same time, he felt he had to. So he did. The raging waves, the deafening thunder, the blinding flashes, the smell of salt, blood and sea monster. The sinking of his ship, and loss of his family and clan.

“... I... I understand...” The lass’s words were raspy, the first she had spoken in weeks.

----------------------------------------

The young halfling sat in her chair, legs pulled up to her chest as she sobbed. The younger gnome stood on his stool, hugging her with difficulty, and stroking her back. His eyes were full of concern, but not surprise at his sister’s reaction. He did not expect that this was how their visit with Agatha would go, and the look on her face, the confusion was true, the guilt that burned in her cheeks at causing the massive reaction was real, but he felt she had some deeper source of guilt he wasn’t able to identify.

The witch looked between the jug and the halfling, racking her mind and seemed to make at least a little connection. She knew the two were rescued as slaves by Glora. She suspected the halfling had some connection to nature and recognized her blunder. She was not certain of the details, but the halfling was most likely from the Mvir Ghlas, and she had triggered a traumatic episode with the reminder of her home. The hag lifted her long robe, and with a swing of her frail arm, cast it over the table, taking the jug and cups away without a flicker of magic the boy could detect.

She removed from a drawer two silver rings, leaving the sounds of clattering coins behind as she slid it closed. With a whisper of arcane phrases, a wave of her boney fingers to herself and the lad, the two rings melted into a silver smoke. She turned and went to her room, leaving the siblings alone in this time. As the boy comforted his sister, managing to guide her down from the stool to lean against the wall of the shabby hut, he heard the witch, her heard and knew the old woman was speaking to him through his mind.

“I, I am deeply, deeply sorry boy. To ya and your sister. I had not known that juice held such a place to her. It was just a treat, for ya both, for visiting me. I offer my apologies, and request your forgiveness...” The image of the elderly woman bowing deeply flittered cross the boy’s mind.

“I, I know Grandmother Agatha... My sister is a strong, powerful young lady. But the very few things that can harm her... Stab her completely through. Her time as a slave and being the only survivor of her clan is a scar she has barely begun to properly treat.” An image of the silent girl curled up the same way she was now, without the tears, inside a metal cage and rocking on the inside of a ship followed his reply.

“I see child... I was a rude host, and an even more foolish companion to your patriarch... I will apologies to ya both, and him, with a gift and answers to your questions.”

Over the course of the next half hour, the halfling girl recovered slowly, sniffling and pressing her head against her brother’s chest. His smaller, softer hands gently robbed her short cut hair that had come loose from her bun. The witch answered the questions for the gnome the best she could.

Three weeks ago, she was approached by some Black Hands goons, who bought up a lot of her supply of the desired root. She didn’t think much of it, people came to her for strange requests for a reason. The next week, they came again. She sold them some more, but she had yet to resupply her stock. They grew angry and demanding. But were driven off with a purple fog of itching poison. But last week, two younglings of the Black Hands council came to her directly. They offered a trade, not for ingredients, but for information. They sought to buy her knowledge on uses and refining methods for the Rimebowle Root. Her price was the recipe they discovered from the poison they were obviously creating and developing. This morning, she received it. Attached to the sewer cover just outside her shop, was the letter for a necrotic poison they had named, The Black’s Touch. It was described as a sickly green and brown sludge that clung to a weapon or the pot. And could have massive effects if properly concentrated.

It was what he and the witch had expected. When the lad received a warning from her however, to look out for the goons, he was confused. Why would the Black Hands target them? That was when he was told of the events their eldest brother was reported to have been involved with. The witch spoke next that there were whispers of war coming that night from several different circles she had access to, even if the public had not a hint.

The boy held his sister as she eventually calmed down, his eyes closed to focus on the conversation and advice the witch was offering.

“Do you think the war will come?” He asked, his feelings of doubt and concern clear in the message.

“Hard t’ say... It makes sense, your eldest sister is wanted by them. The piece of property leads to the sewers, and they have been the most frequent users of those hell holes.”

“If there is to be war... Father would want us to remain away from the places of fighting.” His hand gripped in frustration as he agreed that was the tactical thing to do. “But my sister will not sit by without us helping somehow.”

“If ya don’t tell your father I recommended this... I have an idea that could be very useful...” The sense of hesitation and the tinge of fear in her emotions came across clear as he gave an affirming response. “The two younglings who came to my shop, were the apprentice councilors... They are the youngest of the council for the Black Hands. And one was most certainly an alchemist. They delivered their letter from the sewer. Ya could be able to follow their tracks. They most likely have a lab of some kind down there. And if that is where their poison is being made, ya could intercept and interrupt them...”

“You are suggesting, we enter the sewers, looking to find the alchemy lab of a guild of assassins?”

“I said it was a poor idea.”

“... How confident are you?”

“The sewers are big. They are private. And the only real place to have an experimental lab for a criminal gang. The city guard and inspectors can be bribed, to a limit. If they found a poison alchemy lab on street level, they would be rallying to destroy it for public safety.”

“How confident are you? Those are guesses, not solid evidence.” The boy received a sigh in response and an image of a warding array in the sewers below.

“I am an old woman boy. I have more tricks in my bag than your whole clan combined. I track the folk who come within my territory that the city recognizes as mine. Above and below me. They travel along my line often with their smuggling goods. And whenever they came to see me, they came from down here, and left down here... And a group of them traveled past about two hours after the events of your brother, with the council younglings.” She sent an image of two hooded figures, one wrapped up in a full body covering of bandages, the other a threatening assassin.

“... You are aware, I will need to report your revelations to my father, correct?”

“He already knows, and yes, I am aware. It is your duty and what not.”

Before the boy could decide on a good reply, both he and his sister were startled by the creaking open of the long-closed door to the back room. Out came the witch holding a small pouch that dangled from a length of leather. Tiny, barely visible arcane script ran along the leather where it wove in and out of the fabric so it can tighten close.

The two siblings stood up, the taller, stockier, and heavier halfling nearly crushing the gnome as she leaned on him to help her stand. The girl was very confused, blushing in embarrassment as she was reminded of her episode.

“Oh, my lil’ lassie... I am sorry for my rudeness. Your brother and I spoke, yes girly, I am a magical witch, I am capable of having silent and magical conversations. Oh, stop blushing.” She walked over and placed her bony hand affectionately on the girl’s head. And slipped the leather cored and bag around her head to hang down her chest. “That missy is somethin’ special as an apology. It is a lil’ bag that from it, you can pull my gifts. But once you pull them out, they can’t go back in. And once it’s empty, it will crumble to dust.”

“T-Thank your Granny... Does, it have, um, medicine in it?” The lass asked, looking between her brother and the witch with confusion.

“Oh yes, it has some bottles filled with a few healing juices. And basic antidotes. Just a few items of selection from my wares.”

The girl smiled, happy about the gift, but expecting she would be using it on her frailer brother before ever giving any to herself.

“Thank you, Grandmother Agatha.” The gnome spoke for himself and his sister, slightly annoyed as she smirked at him, knowing she was thinking he would be the first and most likely to need medicine and tonics. “We will be going on our, um, side quest and will be sure to be home by sunset.” His sister looked at him, puzzled, but not questioning his words.

“Okay ya two, head on out. I have work t’ get done since you distracted me with your mischief. Get, get out ya both!” She and the two siblings broke out in a wide grin as she shooed them away and into the adjoining ally. Stopping when they both stood next to a sewer cover.

“I wish you luck boy... I hope your father doesn’t need to find me for answers about where you went.” The witch left the gnome with one last telepathic message, before the spell was broken from her end.

“Okay sis. I guess it’s time we go exploring. We have an alchemist lab to find.”

He looked down at the sewer lid with displeasure, and his sister groaned.

“Oh for the love of the perky n’ pretty peaks of Madra...”